By Philip Vassallo
PROMPT—No one noticed ...
Walking alone after rain, her muddied street
shining under the glow of lampposts still
dripping on parked cars, a man-made sheet
covering every trace of Nature’s will,
judging, on the wind’s cue, that nothing’s right,
passing through the district that sells hope,
eyeing cats emerging from alleys in fright,
crossing into traffic, herself a trodden trope,
stopping by a boutique display windowpane
brimming with false totems few can buy,
staring at her reflection, an inverted plane,
asking her shadow if life is just a lie,
begging God for one lost soul to love,
swearing, yet soaring on broken wings of a dove.
Philip Vassallo’s poetry, essays, and fiction have appeared in many publications, including THE JOURNAL OF EXPRESSIVE WRITING, and his plays have been produced throughout the United States. He writes the blog WORDS ON THE LINE. Philip writes from Parlin, New Jersey.